


Flip Beginning

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Fiction, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-13
Updated: 2003-01-13
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:18:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A day in the life of Pathetic!Krycek.





	Flip Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Flip Beginning

### Flip Beginning

#### by Jamwired

Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own Alex Krycek or Walter Skinner. The X-files and its characters are the property of Chris Carter and Twentieth Century Fox Film. Copyright infringement is not intended. 

Thank you to my alpha and beta readers Anika, Garnet, Josan and Pollyanna. 

This is partly in answer to the dream challenge issued on the Sk/K list from Pollyanna; it grew into a larger story than expected. It is a m/m, Adult story. That means there is graphically detailed SEX between two MALE characters. If you are under age or this sort of thing offends you, leave now. You have been warned. 

* * *

Flip Beginning 

* * *

He was naked, splayed over Skinner like a two bit whore. Skinner, of course, was fully dressed. Krycek had no clue how or why this situation had come to be, but he wasn't one to question the fates. He simply went with what he felt, and right now what he felt was a large hand encircling his cock, fingers stroking the underside of his shaft along the vein. 

He spread his legs further and thrust with languorous hesitation into the slick hand. Skinner's other hand came behind him, pressing right _there_ \-- not penetrating, just teasing. Krycek groaned and bent his head, kissing the man beneath him. Warm and leisurely, his mouth played with the other, tongue gliding, teeth nipping, breathing through his nose and making little high-pitched panting noises with each push of his hips. 

Teeth brushed across his lips as Krycek tried to continue the kiss through Skinner's smile. It didn't work, and Krycek settled for puffing incomprehensible words against the older man's mouth. 

One finger worked its way into his body, and Krycek bit his lower lip at the sensation. Krycek's tongue slipped from his mouth, pursed between his own lips as Skinner's finger pushed in just far enough to nudge the gland. Krycek's mouth found Skinner's again, and he lapped against teeth and gums. 

His hands pulled at the sheets beneath them; his knees spread even wider still as he attempted to drive his cock down, and Krycek bit on Skinner's lower lip, squeezing his eyes shut as the spasms began. 

The kiss paused momentarily, then gradually became less harsh as the orgasm ended. His tongue lapped sluggishly against Skinner's as the finger slipped out of him. 

He moved downward, lips sliding from mouth to cheek to neck, breathing against the under jaw and absently lapping wet salty skin. Krycek reached down and felt for the button and zipper with his fingers. Wet and sticky, he released metal from cotton, then pulled down the tab with a zipping noise. He moved down again, pausing at Skinner's chest and using his hands to push the shirt higher and play with a nipple before taking it between his teeth. 

Skinner grunted when one of Krycek's hands found his cock and began rubbing it through the soft material. A slow "yes" hissed from the older man's mouth, and a large hand covered Krycek's as he continued his manipulations. 

Moving up again, Krycek watched the emotions play over Skinner's face. His brows knitted tightly together when Krycek took his hand away momentarily, then pushed it under the soft cotton. Skinner's lips parted, and he dipped his hand into the material to join Krycek's. 

Krycek took Skinner's lips with his own again, and Skinner grunted loudly, thrusting his hips into his own hand and Krycek's as the wet heat spread across his groin. 

Krycek finally released Skinner's lips when the cock had softened. He pulled his hand away and leaned back against the wall the bed was up against. It was cool to the touch, but Krycek ignored it and smiled at Skinner. The older man still had his hand in his briefs, eyes closed, lips parted, breathing deeply. His eyes cracked open in a sleepy motion, and he stared lazily at Krycek before rolling nearer and burying his face in the younger man's neck. 

Skinner pushed a leg between Krycek's. His head tilted back, and Krycek looked down to meet his eyes. Instead of meeting the other man's gaze, moist lips pressed softly against his. Skinner moved up the bed, and Krycek closed his eyes and savored the touch. The kiss continued until their foreheads touched when Skinner spoke. 

"You didn't think you'd get away that easily, did you, boy?" 

The voice was cracking, more throaty than normal, and Krycek pulled away fiercely and tried to scream. His eyes were leaden as he tried to force them open. A dim pink light kept shining when he began blinking with heavy eyelids. 

When his eyes finally opened fully, it was to the harsh glare of a neon pink sign outside the window of the dark motel room. 

Krycek frowned and realized his belly and groin were cold and mucky. He reached down without looking but already knew what it was. Pulling his hand away, Krycek shoved his face into the dingy pillow and shut his eyes to the stinging. His right arm came up over his head, and he choked out a sob muffled in rank feathers and mildew. As always, his left arm wasn't there. 

And, as always, Skinner wasn't there either. 

* * *

The target was set. 

Krycek crouched behind the short concrete wall. The black-top roof was hot and muggy, and Krycek wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he peered through the lens. He was sweltering in his jacket, but he hated the struggle of getting it off and on. In any case, the mark would show soon. 

Krycek opened his other eye and briefly glanced below to the busy street, satisfied that no one could see him, although he had earlier confirmed this position was not visible from below. Krycek closed the one eye and looked through the lens again. 

There was a gentle rasping metallic noise behind him, and Krycek turned abruptly, immediately on guard. He could see the waving heat rising from the roof, but still he was alone. Krycek frowned and glanced back to the street just as a limousine drove into view. Krycek took a last quick look behind him, then got into position. 

The limousine stopped in front of the hotel, and Krycek wiped the dripping heat from under his chin and licked his lips. He followed the limousine driver with the gun as the man stepped out of the car and walked around to the other side. Krycek's hand tightened on the gun as he prepared for the shot. 

The driver was just opening the door to the back of the car when something blacked out Krycek's lens. There was a moment of confused hesitation, and Krycek frowned and pulled back, opening both eyes. Glancing around hastily, Krycek caught a figure in the corner of his view. 

"Out for a tan?" 

Krycek was trying to scramble away when the blow landed in the middle of his face. Dimly hearing the sharp clattering noise of his gun as he dropped it, Krycek fell back and away. The grinding noise his prosthetic made as he landed on it was not nearly as disturbing as his face when it grated against the ground. Nose aching and cheek burning from the scrape, Krycek felt blood pour down his lips and chin. He gripped his face, rolling on the floor in pain, then glared up at his attacker. 

"I think you broke my nose!" 

"You're about to kill a man, and I'm supposed to care about your dashing good looks, Krycek?" 

Stepping closer, Mulder gripped the back collar of the leather jacket. Krycek growled and tried pulling away, still clutching his nose, but Mulder yanked him up and threw him against the concrete doorway face first. Blood splattered against the gray surface. 

"Why are you trying to kill him? Who's paying you this time?" 

Krycek grunted as Mulder punctuated every few words by pulling his body away, then slamming it back into the concrete. The blood from his nose flowed freely down his lips, dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt. He blew away some of the blood from his lips before answering. 

"That's...two questions, Mulder," he managed. 

"Why do they want him dead?" 

Krycek gritted his teeth together and tried shifting away from the other man. The circulation in his right arm was being cut off as Mulder held it pinned behind his back. He really didn't want to lose another limb, and his vision was wavering from the pain. 

"I don't know, Mulder. Smoker gives me the target; I kill it. It's what I do." 

"Why?!" 

"He has information," Krycek gritted out. 

"What information?" 

"You think I'm told?! Will you let me up? I can't feel my arm." 

Krycek felt the weight of Mulder's body let up slightly, and then the click of a handcuff sounded on his wrist. 

"What are you -- " 

"Shut up." 

Mulder reached around and took the prosthetic in his hand. Without warning, he wrenched it behind Krycek's back. Shoulder practically being ripped from its socket, Krycek screamed loudly. 

"It bends, you moron! You don't have to force it!" 

"Well, I'll keep that in mind next time I'm kicking your ass," Mulder replied thoughtfully. 

The other cuff went on the prosthetic wrist. Mulder dragged Krycek back, then threw him on the ground. Krycek landed on his side with a grunt and promptly maneuvered on the roof's hot surface until he was sitting, wincing in pain. Both shoulders ached, his nose throbbed, his cheek stung and now his ass was getting burned from the black-top roof. Sweat dripped onto his eyelashes, and he blinked at it. In a matter of seconds, both eyes were burning with salt. 

"This is brilliant, Mulder." 

"Shut up," Mulder repeated as he looked at the gun that had fallen to the ground. 

He glanced at the silver case resting beside the gun and bent down, opening it. There was a soft inner foam with place holders cut out. Krycek sulked while Mulder stared at the case. 

"How did you know I'd be here?" Krycek asked. 

"Dismantle it," Mulder said, ignoring Krycek's question, and stood straight again. 

"With what, my teeth?" 

Walking behind Krycek, Mulder took out his gun and undid the handcuff to the prosthetic. Leaving the other cuff on Krycek's wrist, Mulder held his gun to Krycek's head. 

"Dismantle it," he repeated. 

Krycek sighed and crawled to the gun, picking it up. With only one hand and in a matter of seconds, the gun was in pieces and in its case. Krycek stood, and Mulder handcuffed him behind his back again, then took the case. 

"Now, we're leaving this building and going to my car, and you're going to act like nothing's wrong." 

"My hands are cuffed behind my back, and my nose is gushing. People are going to notice." 

Mulder dropped the case and stood in front of Krycek. Eyes narrowing, Krycek took a step back in caution. 

"Stay still." 

Mulder took the front of Krycek's leather jacket and zipped it up to the neck. 

"That's really great. Somehow I don't think it'll fool the natives." 

Krycek failed to notice what Mulder was planning when he spit into the handkerchief he had taken out. He pulled back and snarled when Mulder began wiping the blood off his face. 

"That's disgusting! Get off!" 

Krycek's nose continued to bleed when Mulder had finished. If anything, Mulder had simply managed to smear his face with it. 

"Aw, now you're ready to go to school. Make mama proud," Mulder said as he pulled away. 

"You're really sick, Mulder. What do you think you're going to do? Put me in jail? I'm dead the minute I walk in a cell." 

"Well, we'll just have to find another safe house for you. Won't we?" 

Krycek grimaced in pain, not paying attention to the words. Would he be taken to Skinner again? Mulder shoved him towards the door. Krycek stumbled but caught himself and began walking. He rolled his left shoulder at the taut muscles. Opening the door, Mulder pushed him down the stairwell. When they reached the bottom, Mulder opened the door for him and pushed him through. The building was fairly empty. 

Krycek held the artificially smooth wrist in his right hand, attempting to look as though he were holding his hands behind his back. He hung his head low, hoping that his longish hair would hide the blood on his face. With more luck, the black jacket wouldn't show the blood that trickled from Krycek's chin down its front. They walked side by side, Mulder's elbow in constant contact with Krycek's back and right arm. Once out of the building with only a few odd glances, Mulder pushed Krycek towards the parking lot. They reached the car, and Mulder threw Krycek into the passenger's seat, then got in the driver's seat, putting the silver case behind him. 

Mulder started the engine, and Krycek frowned. This was not going as planned. He would be punished for this. 

"Try not to bleed on the upholstery." 

"Where are you taking me?" 

"You know, I'd hit you again, but you're making a mess without any help." 

"If you hadn't hit me in the first place, you wouldn't have to worry about the upholstery," Krycek said as he leaned forward and let his bleeding nose drip onto the car floor. His arm was cramping. 

"Maybe if you hadn't killed my father, I wouldn't feel the need to hit you every time I saw your ugly face." 

Krycek huffed. Blood sprayed from his lips and caught part of the door and glove box. "Pososi moyu konfetku," Krycek mumbled under his breath. 

"Praying to your demons won't help, Krycek." 

"Let's just get this over with." 

The drive was slow, the conversation nonexistent, and after thirty minutes of driving, Krycek realized they were not on their way to Skinner's. By the time they had reached their destination, Krycek's shoulders felt like they were going to fall off. They walked from the parking lot into the apartment building, and Mulder shoved Krycek through the door when it opened. Suddenly Krycek was faced with three trolls. 

"I need you guys to stash something for me," Mulder told them. 

"Great. Where are the other four dwarves?" Krycek asked lamely. Mulder smacked him over the head, and Krycek flinched. 

"Keep your eyes on him," Mulder said as he checked the handcuffs. "Don't let him out of your sight. Keep a gun on him too." 

"Whatever you do, never feed him after midnight," Krycek muttered. It got him another smack over the head. This time Krycek growled. Mulder ignored him. 

Closing his eyes, Krycek let his shoulders drop wearily as the shortest of the three stooges pulled Mulder aside and whispered something to him. Krycek pushed his shoulder forward in an attempt to lessen the pain the prosthetic had caused while sitting in the car. He cringed in discomfort, debating whether or not to ask to be handcuffed to something else. The weighted chunk of artificial flesh did nothing to help this situation, and it was beginning to chafe. 

"Turn around," came the command, and Krycek's eyes opened wearily. 

Mulder had left. The bearded troll was holding a length of rope, and Krycek sighed with resignation, then obeyed, turning around to be tied. He heard the man approach him, then stop. Rolling his eyes, Krycek waited. Nothing happened, and Krycek grimaced when he heard the surprised "oh." If there was anything he hated more than being a cripple, it was being a pitied cripple. Krycek turned his head and glared at the little man. 

"Just sit down," the man said instead, pushing a chair towards him and dropping the rope on the nearby table. 

Krycek sat, glancing around the room for an escape, but being watched, he doubted he'd be able to get the chance to slip out, and he was too tired to care. He figured the only good thing that had happened in the past hour was that his nose had stopped bleeding, although the dried blood on his face itched. He shut his eyes briefly, not imagining that he would be able to fall asleep sitting up in a chair with his arms secured uncomfortably behind him. 

When he dragged his eyes open, no one was in the room. Blinking the sleep away, Krycek forced himself to become alert. He could hear nothing, but there was a dim light shining underneath a closed door to his left. He slid to the floor and laid on his back. Leaning on his shoulder blades, Krycek moved his arms down and gritted his teeth together in pain. He snarled and moved his arms under his feet and in front of him. The prosthetic was a little loose, but his arm was at least no longer behind his back. He stood up, breathing heavily and in pain, and frowned at the lifeless arm, turning it so it set at a normal angle. Ignoring it again, Krycek went to the door. 

The attached locks looked normal enough until he cocked his head and looked closer. Several of the locks had wires attached to them. Krycek doubted he had the time to figure out what the wires were for and how to dismantle them. 

He hurried to the window and huffed at it; the glass was painted black, and more of the same small wires were visible. Krycek slid his fingers along the bottom edge and pushed lightly. Nothing happened, and Krycek briefly wondered if the electrical device had low sensitivity or was a silent alarm. 

The sound of a turning knob caught his attention, and Krycek spun around just as a figure came out of the room. It was the imp with the beard. Krycek blinked and decided in a split second what to do. 

He ran forward, ramming the other body with his own. A muffled thud and grunt later, and they were on the floor. Krycek's shoulders were still aching, but he ignored them as he rolled with the other man, attempting to gain an advantage. He raised his right arm up quickly, pulling the prosthetic with it, and brought it back down over the man's head hard. The struggling body slowed but didn't stop moving. 

There was a loud wailing noise, and Krycek realized beard-boy was calling for help. He flung himself back and stood up quickly. Glancing at the window, then at the body on the ground trying to get up, Krycek took his chance. 

He jumped at the window. Glass shattered around him, and Krycek gritted his teeth at the crunching clattering noise as he landed on the metal fire escape. 

Standing quickly and disregarding pain both new and old, Krycek turned and looked down. The metal he stood on screeched with complaint. The ground looked farther down than it probably was, and Krycek stared at the rusty ladder hanging from the side. There was no way he could get down it. He glanced up at the steps leading to the other apartment windows and decided that would definitely not be a good idea. He looked back down and without giving himself time to think, jumped off the edge. 

Landing badly, Krycek twisted an ankle, curving around and falling on his back. There was an unpleasant thudding as his head came in contact with the ground. Krycek stood up awkwardly and staggered in pain before turning and running away with a limp. 

He was in so much shit. 

* * *

The door opened, and Krycek stood, staring at the wrinkled face before him. He realized he appeared extremely wretched right now. His nose looked like someone had used it for a golf tee, and the scratches and bruises probably didn't look much better. On the way there, he had been avoided by almost every person who had seen him. He didn't blame them. With the handcuffs, he probably looked like an escaped convict. 

"Come in, Alex. I've been expecting you." 

The old man took a long drag of his cigarette and opened the door, stepping out of the way to let Krycek enter. He nodded to another man standing in the corner of the room who then left. 

"Jason will fix you up," the smoker said lightly as he led Krycek to the couch. 

Krycek sat down wearily, not really wanting to go through this right now. He should have ignored the appointment, but that would have been even more stupid. 

"I expected you an hour ago. My men tell me your target is still alive." 

"I -- " 

"Don't talk, Alex. Look what you've gotten yourself into," the smoker said as he glanced at the handcuffs and shook his head. 

The man -- Jason, Krycek assumed -- entered the room again, sitting next to Krycek. He held a box and a small flat case. The box had a red cross on the front; the case was dark with a tanned-hide gloss. The black case was opened first, and the man took out a small lock pick. Krycek held out his hands. 

"We pay you for a reason," the smoker continued as the cuffs came off. "You don't do your job, and there's no reason to have you around." 

Krycek gritted his teeth together, ignoring the impulse to say something intimidating in return. He had heard this speech before. Beside him, the other man was opening the first aid kit. 

"That's fine, Jason." 

The smoker stared at the other man, and he stood and left. Krycek glowered, and the smoking man put out his cigarette in the glass ash tray resting on the table, then took several items out of the first aid kit. 

Krycek winced at the burning sensation and jerked when the wet gauze dabbed a small portion of his face. The smoker cocked his head, holding his hand still, then continued to disinfect the cut. The alcohol stank, and Krycek just wanted to leave. 

"You're lucky your face isn't broken. We have people who can fix that, Alex." 

Krycek scowled at the threat. His nostrils flared as he imagined the consequences if he didn't kill his mark. 

"It wasn't my fault. Mulder -- " 

"I don't want to hear about Mulder. You had a job; you failed to do it. It's as simple as that." 

The smoker sat back and threw the reddened gauze in the garbage. He picked up a small red and white carton from the table and shook out a cigarette. He lit the cigarette with a long drag, then blew out a stream of white smoke and frowned; his face took on a concerned expression. 

"How's your arm?" 

"It's fine," Krycek said as he looked away. 

"Have you looked at it?" 

"It's fine," he repeated more harshly. 

The smoker slid down in his chair as if getting more comfortable, crossed his legs and took another drag of the cigarette. "You'll finish this job, Alex, and you'll finish it today." It was both a command and a warning. "I have faith in you. Now go do what you're paid to." 

Krycek stood up and turned to leave the room. When his fingers touched the bronze door knob, he heard the murmuring burn of tobacco. He opened the door and closed it behind him, leaving more quickly than he had arrived. 

When he reached his motel room, Krycek sighed and sank down onto the mattress. He reached under the bed and pulled out another case smaller than the one Mulder had taken earlier in the day. He took the gun out and screwed on the silencer. 

Krycek went to the bathroom, leaving the gun on the bed, and looked in the mirror. He looked mangled and worn. Krycek sighed and berated his pathetic reflection for a few moments before cleaning himself up, taking his gun and leaving the room. 

The hotel the mark was staying at was nice, extremely fancy. Krycek frowned and mentally cursed Mulder. This would have been a simple chore earlier in the day. He didn't think anyone would stop him, although he had to admit he didn't look like the normal clientele, considering his thug-like clothing and the fact that his face was littered with scrapes and bruises. 

He ignored the voice that told him he would be noticed and walked into the hotel as though he had a legitimate reason for being there. What he had been hoping for and what happened was that no one in the hotel lobby noticed him. It was large, unoccupied by hotel employees and cluttered with odd round couches and enormous fake plants. Krycek easily slipped through. 

He went to the elevators, found one waiting, stepped inside and pressed the button for the twenty-second floor. The climb was a relatively short one, and when the elevator chimed the floor, his head went down and he exited. 

The hallway was even more quiet than the lobby; his footsteps were softly muted by the carpet. When Krycek turned the corner and saw a policeman sitting outside one of the hotel rooms, he whispered a curse and stepped behind the corner again to conceal himself. He frowned and glanced around for a moment while thinking. 

He could make this work; he had to. 

Krycek stepped around the corner and began walking down the hall. The officer looked up at him, and he gave the man a confused smile and glanced quickly at the door the officer was protecting as if out of curiosity. The man looked at him cautiously but went back to reading the newspaper on his lap when Krycek gazed down the hall to a supposed different destination. Glancing at the room numbers as he passed, Krycek confirmed that the man was definitely guarding the room he needed to be in. 

As he was about to pass the officer, Krycek reached into his jacket and put his hand on the butt of the gun. He turned behind him to make sure the hall was clear, then pulled out the gun, efficiently shooting the guard through the newspaper into his chest several times. Krycek put the gun away and watched as the body stilled. 

The paper in the man's hands dropped, and Krycek looked around briefly to make sure he was still alone. He leaned forward and picked the paper up, then folded it so the holes didn't show and rested it on the man's chest to cover the wounds. Hopefully he would finish before the blood began to seep through. He closed the dead eyes with his fingers and stepped back. Although the body did look rather awkward, to anyone passing it may have looked as though the officer was simply asleep. 

He knocked on the door before him and waited. There was no answer. Krycek frowned and let out a breath in annoyance. He really just wanted to kill his target, then get smashed. He knocked again, but still there was no answer. The man was in. This Krycek knew. Although he hadn't watched the building since earlier in the day when he had been waiting, Krycek had been given extensive documents and history on this man. His target didn't drink, didn't gamble; he didn't buy prostitutes. The man was a millionaire, and he never spent money, never went out, never partied. His current stay at the hotel was only due to a business trip. 

There was also a guard at the door, so the man had to be in. 

Krycek put his ear near the wood to listen for water running, a shower maybe, but heard nothing. He glanced around the hall to confirm that he was still alone, and his hand slipped into his jacket. Pulling out the small card key device, Krycek slid it in, pushed a few buttons and the door unlocked. He slipped inside the room and shut the door behind him. What he found inside made his job much easier. 

His mark was already dead. Krycek pulled out his gun and looked around the room warily for any signs of foul play, but there seemed to be none. The body was slumped forward in a chair. On closer inspection, rubber tubing and a small syringe peeked out of the drooping sleeve. Krycek sighed at the white powdery substance on the mirrored glass resting on the table before the corpse. Not touching anything, Krycek leaned over the body carefully. He put his gun away and reached out, the back of his hand hovering in front of the corpse's face. There was no warm breath puffing against Krycek's hand as he had expected. He left the room quickly. Even more swift was his escape from the hotel. 

Apparently the one thing that had been missing in his mark's documentation had been drug addiction. Krycek assumed it was an oversight; no one was perfect. He did wish he hadn't killed the officer guarding the door for no reason though. Not because he particularly minded killing but because now there would be an investigation. If he had ignored the smoker's orders, the mark would have been dead anyway. 

Krycek walked slowly in the moonlit night through the streets towards a bar. He had a faint idea of what bar he wanted to go to, so he headed in that direction. He felt he deserved to be morose; life was shit, and he got dragged through it enough. What better way to drown his sorrows than through alcohol? Small rain drops began sprinkling down on him, and Krycek frowned and looked up. The sky had turned a dark cloudy gray, and Krycek didn't want to be caught in the coming storm. 

He continued walking, and by the time the rain was coming down solidly, he found the bar he was looking for. It was practically deserted, sullenly dim and had a familiarity to it that Krycek tried not to think about. He sat at the counter and ordered a drink. And eventually ordered another drink. And another. And another. 

After his fifth or sixth drink -- Krycek had lost count -- someone directed a question at him. At least Krycek was pretty sure it was directed at him. And he thought it might have been a question of some sort. 

"Anthony Micelli." 

Krycek knew the voice, knew who it was even before he turned. As he had suspected, the voice belonged to Skinner. He wanted to be shocked or appalled that Skinner had known to find him there; instead he held a steady gaze on the older man for a few moments, then turned back to his drink. Krycek tried to ignore him, pretending to be uninterested when all he really wanted was this man. Not even for sex, although he admitted sex would be an added benefit. He simply wanted this man. 

"Who?" Krycek replied eventually. 

"You know who. Mulder had another self-induced hissy fit today." 

"I'm sure that's nothing new." 

"Is he dead yet?" 

"Who?" Krycek repeated. 

Skinner sighed. "Anthony Micelli." 

"You mean did I kill him? No. But he's dead." 

"You didn't kill him?" 

Krycek laughed and sipped at his drink. "Overdose." 

"Pretty convenient." 

Krycek frowned and looked into his beer. "I didn't kill him." 

"I didn't say you did." 

"I would have." 

Krycek looked up at Skinner. He opened his mouth to say something, realized it was an apology and closed his mouth. There was a glass of dark liquor in the other man's hand, and Krycek wondered when it had gotten there. The corner of Krycek's eye twitched. The rain drummed against the roof, and he concentrated on the pattering noise, looking back into his drink. The tawny liquid somehow calmed him as he stared into it. 

Krycek didn't realize Skinner had left until the bar door closed. He stared at the door for a moment, then glanced down and pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket in haste, throwing them on the counter and practically staggering outside. He vaguely recalled having over one hundred dollars in the pocket, but he didn't particularly care that he had by far over-tipped the bartender. Skinner was standing on the street curb in the rain, attempting to hail a cab. Krycek yelled and ran to catch him, the pain in his ankle flaring as he ran. Glasses discarded probably due to the rain, Skinner glared at Krycek. 

"What do you want, Krycek?" 

Krycek panted in the wet shower. What did he want? It was absurd and possibly due to his drunken state, but he wanted flowers, and candlelight, and romantic music, and fireworks, and candy hearts on Valentine's day. He wanted someone to give a Christmas present to even though he didn't celebrate that holiday. He wanted someone to know how he took his coffee. He wanted someone to laugh and cry with. He wanted someone to call him by his first name and not expect anything in return, for Christ's sake. Maybe it was just because he was drunk, but, damn it, he wanted... 

"Um." 

"Well, what the hell are you waiting for? I'm getting wet." 

"Uh," Krycek said dumbly. 

"Jesus, I'm not waiting for this." 

Skinner turned and began leaving. Krycek stood in the rain, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do. He looked at Skinner's form dimming in the downpour and realized how far away the man was getting. He began running, splashing through puddles, ignoring the ache in his ankle, the dizzy and heavy feel from the alcohol and getting even more wet than before. When he came to Skinner, he slid to a halt, and his ankle gave out. Grunting in pain, Krycek fell down to his knees, catching himself from falling farther by grabbing onto Skinner's pant leg with his hand. Then he realized how stupid this must look. Krycek looked up at Skinner. The older man was staring down at him with an annoyed and fierce expression on his face. 

"I -- I want...I want you. I want...a kiss, or -- or a hug, or a fuck, or anything. I'd," Krycek took a deep breath. "I'd do anything." 

Skinner stared down at him, his expression softening. "You'd do anything?" Krycek nodded frantically. "For me to fuck you?" Krycek remained passive. Skinner squatted beside him. "Do you know what I did...after you left that first time, after the Duane Barry case? I checked your files. I didn't want to believe that you'd just gone like that. I didn't want to believe what the implications of your leaving meant. Do you know what I found? Your family, your education, Quantico, everything like an open book. You were exactly who you said you were with that one exception. I always wondered what happened to such potential." 

Krycek frowned. "I was stupid, innocent." 

Skinner shook his head. "Naive," he corrected. 

Krycek's jaw lowered in confusion. His brows creased together and did nothing to prevent the water from trickling into his eyes and blurring his vision. Skinner squinted, reached out and let his index finger trace a wet line across Krycek's cheek. The rain water washed away the small line as it was made. 

Then Skinner smiled, stood and walked away. 

* * *

The End 

"Pososi moyu konfetku." (Russian): "Suck my dick." Literally: "Suck my candy." 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Jamwired


End file.
